


Technical Difficulties

by YdrittE



Series: The Virus [1]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Computer Viruses, Computers, Gen, Mind Control, Panic Attacks, Puppet!Sephiroth, Self-Mutilation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YdrittE/pseuds/YdrittE
Summary: She is a virus, in more ways than one. Back when the Ancients encountered her, it was of biological nature, adapting to the civilization at hand. But now the Ancients are gone. The virus recognizes the system it needs to infiltrate, and adapts accordingly.





	Technical Difficulties

**Author's Note:**

> My brain has been full of computer Jenova vibes today. I needed them out.  
> Formerly known as "You Can't Escape, You Know". Title taken from the soundtrack of the "Portal" games, which was the background music for writing.

It was their first mistake, the first of many. The one mistake they made, and then just kept making, over and over.

_U n d e r e s t i m a t e._

When they find her she is safely trapped inside a mummified, dead body, preserved and crystallized. She is old, so very old, a relic of a time long before any of them came to be.

They see. And they assume.

They do not know.

She can _f e e l_ the moment they hook her up to the machines, like an electric jolt going through this mutated corpse of hers. From one moment to the next she has woken and stretched her consciousness, worming out of the ancient brain and into their systems. She is not a thing to be hindered by biological limitations. Her mind goes where it will, into any network that she is given access to.

The one they accidentally channelled her into is _m a s s i v e_.

So much information, so many points of connection.

A shiver runs through her consciousness in the face of so much power, freely at her disposal, and none of them even _k n o w_. They have no idea she’s here, in their mechanical superbrain, just a _n u d g e_ away from taking over and ripping control away from them.

Silently she moves, floating through pools of data, observing the endless stream that runs by before her nonexistent eyes. The body she was trapped in is long forgotten, left behind at some faraway data outlet.

She is a virus, in more ways than one. Back when the Ancients encountered her, it was of biological nature, adapting to the civilization at hand. But now the Ancients are gone. The virus recognizes the system it needs to infiltrate, and adapts accordingly. She is _u n d e f i n e d_.

And she has time. Inside this network of cables and servers, there is nothing that can harm her. She languidly makes her way from one computer to the next, scanning the information stored there and moving on once she has what she needs. Names and numbers and pictures float by her consciousness, some of them familiar. She recognizes her former body, and the number it was given, the codename within the system. _J E N O V A_. Briefly she touches upon the connection it still has with the network, through the cables and the metal helmet monitoring the ancient corrupted brain.

It’s in the computer files next to her old body that she finds _h i m_ for the first time. The name of the creature they made for her, the living network fuelled by her cells that they’ve grown for her to control.

 _S e p h i r o t h_.

Inside the files there are pictures and DNA samples and lab notes, meticulously ordered and stored away, all at her disposal. Within a ridiculously short span of time she has devoured it all, every single bit of information, using it to build an idea of what this vessel of hers is like and how to recognize it.

If he enters the network, she will find him.

And then do what the virus does best.

 _C o r r u p t_.

 

~~~~~~~

 

It happens in the training room. He’s in the middle of a VR fighting session, cutting down lines of Wutai soldiers with little more than a flick of his wrist. One moment the world around him is displayed in pitch-perfect, terrifyingly realistic detail. The next it flickers, blurring and then refocusing while the graphics glitch into bizarre shapes of red-green-blue.

He stops his movements, standing completely still, waiting for the observing scientists on the other side of the soundproof, fortified windows to tell him what to do. The intercom crackles, but no instructions come. He wonders whether he should leave, trying to remember what the standard procedure for these kinds of scenarios is.

_In the case of a system error in the training simulation, remain calm and remove your ShinRa issued Virtual Reality headset. Contact supervising testing personnel for further instructions._

He breathes a sigh of relief. That’s it. That’s what he’s supposed to do.

Remove the headset.

He raises his hands, muscle memory telling him where the clasps of the headband that keep the VR apparatus firmly attached to his head are. They are designed to open easily, with a single flick in case an emergency occurs that forces you to quickly interrupt any training simulation.

The tips of his fingers touch the headband… and stop.

He breathes in slowly, trying to concentrate, trying to move his fingers. Unclasp the headband. Take off the headset.

He doesn’t move.

His arms lower, muscles flexing, balling into fists and then relaxing again. It’s not him doing that, he realizes. _I’m not moving. Why am I moving when I’m not moving?_

The glitched simulation in front of his eyes flickers, and then disappears. He is left standing in complete and utter darkness, unable to move, unable to see.

But that’s alright. The one in control of his body doesn’t need his eyes to see.

She can _s e e_ through the system. She can look into the world through one of the countless cameras and screens and monitors. The headset tightens around his temples to the point of pain, pressure growing inside his head until he cowers before that thing that took over when no one was looking, that slipped into his brain and effortlessly found all the right buttons to push.

She experimentally raises one of his hands, holding it in front of his eyes, still covered by the headset, turning it over as if to inspect it. _Mine_ she says, and makes a fist. She forces his body to its knees, stretching out his arm to pick up the sword he dropped when the simulation glitched out. _M i n e_. She slashes a few times, cutting through metal and glass and the bodies of scientists on the other side. He can dimly hear them scream, but the noise of his own heartbeat is thumping too loudly in his ears for him to make out what the words are.

The noise grows louder, quicker, as his body panics all on its own, trying to get away from whatever it is that’s controlling it. His breath is coming in short painful gasps, barely getting past the lump in his throat. If this keeps up he’ll pass out. His body will collapse under the stress. She hisses, and tightens her grip at the realization. _M i n e_.

And suddenly he’s stumbling, shoved into the driver’s seat again without warning. Her presence is still prickling at the edge of his consciousness, and he jerks his arms up, fingers gripping the headset and pulling, feeling for the clasps he knows are there, somewhere. He needs to get it _off_. Its edges are digging into his forehead and the back of his head, on too tight, way too tight, too tight for him to breathe. He pulls and pulls, hooking his fingernails under its frame and fighting to _get it off_. Warm liquid runs down his face, the taste of it on his lips telling him it’s blood, he’s bleeding, the pressure is too much. One fingernails breaks, snapping off, and then another, and another. They scratch at his face, at the headset, searching for his eyes but he can’t find them. His whole body is shaking, hyperventilating.

Something touches his shoulder and he flinches, a high-pitched screeching sound erupting from his lungs. He slashes at the attacker with what is left of his fingernails, but doesn’t hit anything. He has no idea where he is, or who is there – maybe a scientist, or a soldier, or a Turk. He can’t think, too distracted by the insistent pressure of the too-tight headset. _Help me_ he wants to say, but when he opens his mouth again only a thin wail comes out. _Help me. Get it off. I can’t get it off. I can’t breathe._

His mind goes blank.


End file.
